Casting Shadows at Noon
by Lily Fairy
Summary: Severus learns that redemption does not mean finding peace. Think Snape likes Dumbledore? Think again.
1. Staring at Sunlight

Casting Shadows at Noon  
Summary: Severus Snape's past since joining the Death Eaters seen from the end of book 4.  
Disclaimer: I own nothing, least of all Harry Potter and any of the characters therein. If you sue me you will get a piece of pocket lint. Not very exciting.  
  


Chapter 1: Staring at Sunlight  


  
Severus Snape stared out at the sunlight pooling on the stone floor in the hospital wing. He always seemed fascinated by sunlight, and Albus Dumbledore was sure that in it, he saw the reflection of his own brilliance, though that was clouded by the eternal night of the past he was never able to forget. And still the question hung unanswered on the air.  
  
In that moment, Severus would have been willing to look anywhere but into Dumbledore's piercing eyes. He stared at the sunlight instead, at the tiny creases that sunlight was never able to penetrate. In any time and place, there were cracks such as these, people and secrets never shown to the world, whether through their own choice or through the tides that changed worlds and men.  
  
Dumbledore. In the moments between question and answer, Severus hated him with every inch of his body, every feeling he possessed devoted to hating that man. You know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready... if you are prepared... He wanted nothing more than to spit in the old man's face and follow Fudge out of the hospital wing, but knew he would not. No one ever did. The power this one man had over an entire generation of witches and wizards had astonished him many times, but it was not a force that could be fought. Especially since Harry benighted Potter had joined the long list of people who only trusted Snape as far as Dumbledore said.  
No one but Albus Dumbledore and Minervra McGonagall felt the tension as Snape raised his head. Even Harry Potter only saw the strange glitter in the potion master's eyes as he said I am.  
  
And again, Severus found himself back in the dungeon, raging at shadows and striking the roughhewn walls with hands both fragile and deadly. Lashing out with an anger all the more frustrated because it was directed at the one thing he could never escape: himself.


	2. The Light at the Keyhole

Casting Shadows at Noon Chapter 2: The Light at the Keyhole  
  
Dumbledore returned to his office and lowered himself wearily into a chair. Voldemort had returned. The future unfolded itself before him; the endless cycle of fear and mistrust, hopelessness replacing the weeds of spirit and faith that sprang from his first ruin. And one pale, miserable face saying 'I am'.  
  
The old man had always had an affinity for Severus. He had felt the brilliance of the young Slytherin as his transfiguration teacher, felt his cold contempt for weakness and needless feelings. He was an aristocrat in every sense of the word, proud for the bloodline he never flaunted, putting Lucius Malfoy to shame with his cool disdain for the older boy's boastfulness drawing attention in a house inclined to follow its leaders. He could have been the guiding voice of the school then, but he had passed that power over, then and always. It was not power over men that Severus Snape had desired, but over books, cauldrons, and the emotions that moved armies. Not to conquer, but to devastate was his goal.  
  
And he could have. In some ways Severus Snape was just as deadly as Voldemort, and it was for this that Albus trusted him, would always trust him, over the cries of McGonagall, over the rebellion of Sirius Black, the mutterings of Madame Pomfrey and the insolence of Harry Potter. For the knowledge he had given up, that had changed his alliance and ruined his life, Dumbledore would always love him. 


	3. The Darkness Past

Casting Shadows at Noon Chapter 3: The Darkness Past  
  
It came back vividly to Snape as he appareled among the other Death Eaters, the past rising and engulfing him in a suffocating mist, hiding hope and reflection.  
  
Darkness in pine-scented woods. A campfire burning bright, wood smoke spiraling into the night. Following Lucius to the circle of watchers. Fabric rustling, hooded faces, a memory of a muggle group-the KKK? irrelevant, worthless, a form outlined against the night, reflected into the fire, the broken glass scattered before it, a thousand tiny Voldemorts gleaming in the night. Kissing the hem of a robe; "My lord, Severus is a master potions maker... improved necromantic processes a thousandfold" "I hunger to serve you, my lord." Stepping over the twisted figure of a woman- a muggle, agony reflected beside power, feeling distaste, but not here for that, never for that, just knowledge, knowledge is power, life, vital, and entering a tent- canvas, charmed for sound, images and ideas clarifying and focusing, too clear, too bright for human eyes, a mystery not intended to be deciphered, wordless conditions of the game that they all played.  
  
Voldemort had seated himself in a chair of old, crushed velvet and twirled his wand in long fingers. It was death to any man who resisted that which was offered in this room. Still, this slim, dark man was intriguing. He held himself as though he was the king of all, and more intriguing, he was a master potions-maker. Such men did not defect often, indeed, they rarely were allied. The patience and study needed to master potions meant that they were poor, ugly, and of muggle blood often enough. They had to be bribed and blackmailed in order to produce, and in a discipline when mistakes were common, potion-based warfare was impractical in the extreme.  
  
This man, though, was utterly original. Tall, dark, and of the pale complexion valued by Europeans, he was born a Snape, older and richer than even the Malfoys. That fact alone opened a sea of possibilities and intrigues. His voice was soft as silk, musical, yet containing a complete neutrality, a lack of emotion that was either sincere or carefully studied. The speed of his words revealed a measured intelligence deep as Voldemort's own. Instinctively, he new this man could turn the allegiance of crowds with a single breath, could be absolutely convincing when accused of anything, could make sincerity match deceit without a single flaw. A double- edged sword, intentions hidden from wielder and victim. A dangerous man, by any measure. But Voldemort had always valued a challenge. And this challenge he accepted cooly and confidently. Behind his black hair and blacker eyes, Severus perceived.  
  
A log in the path, and Severus stumbled, cursing. Approaching that tent again, too real, too clear, and drawing ever nearer, he saw Lucius, last to leave the previous night's meeting, staring. Lucius, who had always regretted bringing Severus here, who had watched with growing apprehension as Severus had risen in the ranks of the Death Eaters. Watched, as Voldemort had pitted the two families against each other, and watched, as Snape inevitably won. 


	4. Glinting Gold and Fiery Opal

Casting Shadows at Noon Chapter 4: Glinting Gold and Fiery Opal  
  
Entering the tent, that clarifying light again, brighter as it was magnified by fear.  
  
It was never meant to go this way. Severus had joined, not out of disdain for muggles, nor out of desire to play with the winning team. He did not have to subjugate mudbloods. He was superior, stronger in powers and pride. Such people shied from him and felt ashamed of the lineage they could not alter. He did not need to pick the stronger power. His skill would survive any war, and he could avoid any repercussions with the dexterity of a monkey in the trees of his home. Severus Snape was here because at this moment in time, playing by established rules would earn him nothing. Voldemort had been fascinated by his degree, his reputation, and the charisma that is so unusual in the wizarding world. He had offered Snape anything for his service, and Snape had named his demand, the price to buy his soul and the souls of those whose lives he had never valued- The Book of the Dead.  
  
The flush of rebellion filled his nerves, as he defied his guardians, and defied his old headmaster, who had flatly begged him to avoid the Death Eaters. With the certainty that he always brought to decisive action, he did not regret defying them, but one face, sad and heavy, filled his mind- his transfiguration teacher, staring down from the great staircase, seeming to know where the young man was going though he gave no visible sign. The sorrow in Dumbledore's expression had shook him, gave him the feeling that this man completely understood him, but he continued, and by the time he reached Voldemort, he was calm and completely certain.  
  
He was not asked to kill with his wand, indeed Severus had never cast an Unforgivable Curse upon a human. Veritaserum was his medium, as he drew nearer to the knowledge he sought. It was not such a terrible bargain. If Snape could create a potion that would control a man as powerfully as the Imperius curse, and prevent the victim from overcoming it with time, then Voldemort would give him a book that had been passed to him from the Director of Egyptian Wizardry as token of allegiance, a book that meant nothing to him.  
  
Severus' eyes adjusted to the light in the tent, and he could pick out a tall dark form as he dropped to his knees, groveling as he had been trained to do.  
  
In the same tent, the light softer now, Death Eaters arranged around the room in a semicircle, holding champagne, toasting Severus and his success, the young man leans on a table, paler than usual from loss of sleep and lack of exposure to the sun, a nervous twitch acquired from a nasty cauldron burn he has neglected to heal making long fingers open and close perpetually on his left hand, but smiling grimly. Malfoy scowling in the corner, overshadowed and forgotten. He has finally extracted information from a victim, a job usually left to Severus with his seductive voice and skill with a Veritaserum induced haze, but his triumph is forgotten as everyone listens to his competitor. His voice is harsh and weary now "Thank you, my lord", and Voldemort beams at his vassal, focuses the attention of his servants- "Voldemort rewards his faithful servants, and you, Severus, are truly faithful." Voldemort still seems familiar now; it will be another week before the term He Who Must Not Be Named will be coined, and now he clasps Severus on the arm before he turns to the table, and hands over the promised reward- a book about as large as Snape's arms, heavy and glinting, throwing golden slivers of light upon everyone in the room. Voldemort removes a ring, too, a fire opal, and hands it to his vassal "a token of our appreciation". In this moment, Severus is happy as he has never been, the part of him that still wishes to please his superiors satisfied, the disquietude of rebellion erased, and a true sense of fulfillment filling his entire body. Throughout his life, Severus will remember his time with the Death Eaters as the time he was truly happy.  
  
But is has been years since that moment, and as a boot throws him from his demonstrations of respect, that happy moment fades from memory, replaced with a future bleak and miserable. 


	5. The Luster of Lost Trust

Casting Shadows at Noon The Luster of Lost Trust  
  
Severus reels off the excuse with the trained ease of an actor reciting lines... speaking of Dumbledore's watchfulness, the necessity of waiting, especially as Karkaroff had just fled, the traitor... but surely his Lord would forgive him, as he had done everything he could, and look how much Dumbledore trusted him now- that couldn't be sacrificed for anything.  
  
The Dark Lord narrows his eyes, wanting to believe that his old servant has truly returned, but knowing it may not be true. Wanting to lash out at Severus, but knowing he could not, wanting to cast legilimens, knowing Severus could not be controlled, wanting to do something, anything to get back the original Severus, the devoted Severus. Outright rebellion was better than the lifeless indifference of the young man. So young, and so utterly ruined.  
  
Snape held his breath, waiting to know if he would be killed now, immediately, or if Voldemort would consider the importance of the game he was playing, would appreciate their interdependance. Voldemort relaxes, and lifts him from the ground, giving a falsely happy exclamation that startles the Death Eaters around him, makes them wonder how they can use this new development to their advantage. They are actors, both of them, and both know that the script has been written by a man miles away in his oak paneled office.  
  
Voldemort is wondering when he can reverse his role, how he can outmaneuver Dumbledore. Severus is wishing that he had been killed. But, for him, this is hardly a foreign emotion.  
  
Three hours later Snape is gone, and Voldemort lashes out, destroys his tent in his rage. The boy had been brilliant, had leapt for knowledge, and followed wide-eyed after anyone who could tell him anything. Now, he is worthless, a spy who may or may not betray him. It was not that he had finally appreciated the horror of what he was doing. he had done that long before, and he had returned, sorrowful but still loyal, still working hard. It had been summer, just before Potter had been born, just before the prophecy had been made, when he had returned one day. Had admitted to meeting Dumbledore. Had taken the Cruciatus without a sound, as he always had. And then, looking at him with dead, blank eyes, had handed him a book of gilded pages, with an opal ring on top. Voldemort had handed them back, but Severus had only taken the ring, had left the book on the desk and never looked at it again. That, thought Voldemort, was the day Dumbledore had killed a man.  
  
Three hours later Snape is in the carriage home, waiting dully to arrive at the castle, waiting to report to Dumbledore. He recalls the day he had agreed to spy for him, a full year after he had confided in the old man about the Death Eaters and their cruelty, remembers returning to the school where he worked and discovering the Dumbledore had tipped off the ministry, had seen the look in Mad-Eye Moody's eyes as the auror held his wand at Snape's chest, remebers Crouch's reasonable voice as it suggested that they make a deal. Snape's harsh bark of laughter startles the thestrals of his carriage, as they pull steadily along the road to Hogwarts. He had staggered into the school feeling tainted. It was not that Severus was betraying the Dark Lord that he minded, it was the actual act of betrayal that sickened him, made him finally run to the Dark Lord, report meeting Dumbledore and informing him that he was a Death Eater, and made him take the punishment silently. To this day, he could never explain what made him return the book that he had spent his life desireing. He had never even opened it, but he could not bear to see it gleaming in the darkness reflecting his treachery, his breaking of a pact that felt no less real in that it had never existed.  
  
Three hours later, Dumbledore smoked a pipe, pacing the floor of his office and hoping that Severus was not dead. He was truly fond of Severus, but he did not like the dead look in the man's eyes. He had been lively and intelligent lately; mocking Potter and even showing a vestige of his old interest in acquiring knowledge, reading new studies in Potion making. Studies that had lain unopened since the Dark Lord's return. Albus never really understood why Severus had stopped seeking knowledge after beginning to spy for him. Part of him rationalized that this disinterestedness in knowledge, the dead look in his eyes, the loss of interest in life was the result of some taunt of the Dark Lord's. but in his hear, he knew that the real Snape had died the instant he had cornered him, had forced him to agree to spy.  
  
Three hours later, the sky wept for the lives and the souls lost over nothing. For the sky cannot see the color of man's blood. 


	6. The Darkest Choice

Casting Shadows at Noon  
  


The Darkest Choice  


  
  
It had been four months before the fatal attempt on the Potter's life when Voldemort first tested the controlling potion Severus worked so hard to perfect. A cloaked figure, slipping into a bar, tipping a vial into a stranger's drink, a whispered suggestion. Dorcas Meadows had slipped up the steps beneath her Invisibility cloak; an Auror, too powerful for the Imperius, had _obeyed, _silently, quietly. Severus always felt dizzy, remembering his pride in that moment. She snuck up the stairs to spy on Dumbledore, a simple test with no particular benefit, just intended to test the spying and reporting procedure. Snuck into the second floor, and heard the final words of Sibyl Trelawny's interview for the Divination Professor.  
  
_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...Born to those who have thrice defied him, Born as the seventh month dies...._ Severus remembers the pacing, the worrying, the regrets that the spy was only told to listen for two minuets. Remembers the counting, the figuring of those who would resist.... Black: Joined the Order of the Phoenix, saved Pettigrew's life, killed a Death Eater, but he isn't married, won't ever be the way he's going..... Lupin: Joined the Order, nothing more.... Potter: Joined the Order, killed McNair's son, ruined an assault on Surrey, _Expecting a son in July_.... Longbottom: Joined the Order, Put five Death Eaters to death at once, escaped by a hair's breath the first time he destroyed their house, Frank Longbottom had apparated away at the final instant from the old Ministry building and destroyed vital files as he left... _Expecting a son in July.  
  
_Worried, seeking to destroy this threat, the Dark Lord had turned to his adviser: which child will it be? There was time, of course, to kill both children, but that fool Dumbledore will try to protect them, best to act fast against the greatest threat.... Severus thought, remembered Potter with his lazy drawl and fast wand, and Longbottom, with his gift for charms and his friendly stutter, and said, easily and fluidly .  
  
That night, Dorcas Meadows became the first resistance member to be personally killed by Voldemort himself, though the honor seemed rather lost on her.


	7. Fire in an Opal, Ice in a Heart

Casting Shadows at Noon Fire in an Opal, Ice in a Heart  
  
Two months later, Severus Snape entered Florish and Blotts with his usual enthusiasm for new literature, and ran straight into Lily Potter. As usual around his classmates, it was Severus who fell down, while Lily swayed and recovered herself. "Oh, hello Severus," she exclaimed enthusiastically, radiating the sense that she was happy to see anyone at that moment "Have you heard the good news? I have a son named Harry. He's soooo cute! Well," she began again, talking considerably faster than the average human being, sounding oddly similar to one Hermione Granger on her first day of school. "I simply have to run, I just came in for a parenting book, there's so much to learn, I hope I do everything right, have a nice day, it was good to see you, goodbye." and she was gone.  
  
He didn't know why Lily had always affected him like that. Something about her perpetual relentless good humor, her habit of always seeming to care more that there was someone to talk to than she did who it was that was listening, always left him breathless and felling more connected to humanity at large than usual. Simply by virtue of being willing to listen, he had often sat with her in the library as she discussed everything from Charms to dating. The teachers encouraged their odd association, and everything went well until their fifth year. On January fourth, Lily Evans had gone to him for help with potions, and at that exact moment James Potter noticed them both for the first time.  
  
The pattern continued throughout their last three years at Hogwarts. The more that James Potter pursued Lily with a furious and arrogant determination, the more Lily disliked him and sought out a normal life, the more Severus, who had never understood the concept of love or dating, and certainly never regarded Lily, a silly albeit intelligent Gryffindor, in that light, found himself being tortured by the Potter boy and his gang.  
  
Severus had never heeded the Marauders. They were Gryffindor, mostly muggle- born or half muggle, except for Black, of no consequence to him. But, somehow, after January, they were everywhere. Severus was a powerful wizard, but he succeeded mainly through pure magical force rather than speed. He tended to find himself upside down, with his head rammed into cupboards, and other similarly uncomfortable positions. Lily tended to be furious with Potter, expressing disdain to him after the fact. Thus, Severus took to hexing the marauders whenever they met, and staying in his common room.  
  
The last day of finals, 5th year. Severus had wandered onto the grounds, buried in book and completely oblivious to life in general. A phrase, snapped cruelly. Severus' reflexes, failing. A handful of words he certainly wouldn't use at home falling from his lips, and Potter hexed him again. "Leave him ALONE!...What's he done to you?" Great. Now she was trying to help him again. "Well," drawled Potter casually "It's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean" Poor James Potter. He never knew how much those words meant, never knew that he was achieving his intention, chasing Severus away from Potter's property. For Lily was his property, and from that day forward, she never defended him again. He supposed it was his own fault. He never knew what made him call her a mudblood, except that at that moment, he saw Albus Dumbledore, his TEACHER, sitting on a rock, laughing at him.  
  
The transfiguration teacher of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry sat upon his favorite rock, and watched the 5th year students enjoying their break in studying. There was Evans and her gang, and Malfoy's following, and Potter's. They seemed to have fallen back on their favorite sport- Snape hunting. The Hogwarts faculty was aware of them, but they chose to let this run its course, and Snape was improving. His reflexes were much better now, and his devotion to keeping Potter out of his head had given him an unbelievably good skill in occlumency. A phrase drifted across the grass "What's he done to you?" "Well, It's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean". Dumbledore laughed at the insolence of a boy who had yet to encounter the real world, and marveled at the force of hatred in the eyes of his victim.  
  
Severus staggered from the shop and collapsed in an alleyway, Lily's excited little voice rang in his ears. No. She had married Potter. She deserved what she got. But she was so excited. And she had been so kind ot him. Frank Longbottom passed him with a vague smile. How could this be? What power left the fate of two families in the hands of one man, let him decide who's child would die, and who could keep their child for another year? How could his master demand this of him? why did they have to die? because they were dangerous to his master. Who said that his master should rule? his master. what happened to those who questioned him? they died. What did he do in the face of this tyranny? he helped. who resisted this, who thought for themself? Albus Dumbledore.  
  
That night, Severus returned to the Death Eater's camp, and very calmly and systematically destroyed the Imperius potion. He burned the books he used, he destroyed the notes he took and the cauldron he made it in. He practiced his Occlumency, clearing his mind. And he lifted the Book of the Dead from its shelf in his tent. He walked quietly into his master's tent, placed the book before him, and added the opal ring that was his mark of favor.  
  
Voldemort regarded Severus as he set down the ring. The young man's eyes said clearly that he was going to betray his master, and offered the option of killing him. There was fear there, and yet ruthlessness. Severus did not want to die, but he continued his loyalty through the offering of his life. After that, he made no guarantees. Silently, Voldemort returned the ring, replacing it on Severus' finger.  
  
Two hours later, Severus had wept upon Dumbledore's lap.  
  
Severus winced with the force of the memory as he walked up the stairs to the castle. He still had that blasted ring in his office. He'd been so noble, so determined to do right, so proud that the Dark Lord recognized this, so sure Dumbledore would as well. And in return for following his ideals, he had been ruined. Utterly and completely ruined.  
  
"He didn't harm you at all?" "He acted perfectly delighted to see me." "Well, you certainly seem able to convince him of anything. If only you could convince him that muggle borns are nice." Severus snorted beneath his breath. For all of Dumbledore's brilliance, he never really understood what Severus told him about Voldemort. This was doubtless an attempt at humor, but Albus should know better than to think Voldemort believed him. "He doesn't care about muggles, I told you that. He's half-blood himself. By his own scale, he isn't fit to lick my boots, and that would be funny. He saw a point of contention, saw that everyone with talent and influence was on the losing side, and completely disturbed our government." "Still, he is influenced by your skill with words, and that is excellent" Severus was seriously vexed now. Either Dumbledore was truly stupid, or he was baiting him, and Severus didn't intend to stick around to find out. So he purred, "Well, It's more the fact that I exist, if you know what I mean". There. He had answered respectfully, and if the old man had any since of decency he wouldn't follow Severus as he swept coldly from the room.  
  
Albus was completely blown away. "Well, It's more the fact that I exist, if you know what I mean". Severus had seen him that day, had seen him siting inactive. Laughing. Severus thought he had been mocking him. 


	8. Stained Glass Prism

Casting Shadows at Noon  
  
Chapter 8: Stained Glass Prism  
  
Severus came into the Headmaster's office, shrugging off the cloak that hung about him, shrugging off the rain and the depressing air of gloom that he had carried about him all that day. "Nice evening, isn't it, Albus?" The headmaster jumped, turned, and smiled vaguely at him, with all the symptoms of having spent the day sitting wrapped up in a book and avoiding things he should have been doing.  
  
"Ah, Severus, you're back. How was the meeting?" "Guess." The older man tried to smile and shrug it off, but he could not help seeing the exhaustion in the Potion Master's face. "Severus, you should get more rest. You look ill." The neutral expression on Snape's face disappeared, his brows drew together. "Good." he bit. "The Dark Lord likes to believe that his servants work their hardest for him." "Severus, you owe it to yourself to remain healthy." The younger man swore and turned away, stared out the window. "I owe it to you, you mean. We both know how much I care about it all. But I've got to watch out for your interests, don't I? What was it they made me say? 'I solemnly swear to live and fight for the force of good so long as Albus Dumbledore lives to guide me on the path of wisdom'. I should think," He continued in an aggrieved voice, turning back to look at him, lip curled in the classic Snape sneer, "that it would be easier for you to just give up on me. I can't possibly be of any real use to you."  
  
"I wanted to help you because you seemed so earnest when you came to me, so eager to do good. But then , after we made the arrangement, you..." "I stopped caring." "Yes. Why?" Dumbledore glanced sharply at Severus. He had sensed the man's talkative mood the instant he walked into the room, and he hoped that Severus would finally tell him what it was that had effected this change. Outside, Filch was chasing a small girl, who had chosen to run rather than face the consequences of her actions. It would have been the work of an instant for Filch to bring the girl back, many of the castle's magical properties being available to Squibs as well, but the man enjoyed a good chase scene occasionally. Severus turned his focused gaze from the window back to Dumbledore, who flinched outright at the look in his eyes.  
  
"Because, my dear headmaster, I would have done it anyway. A forced defection is useless, but I think that you will find even I am willing to act on my beliefs. Imagine that," He continued, sarcasm creeping into his voice. "I actually have a good side."  
  
Dumbledore remembered  
  
Severus throwing darts with deadly accuracy, spelling each one to hit the target the instant that Malfoy's back is turned, grim satisfaction in every line on his face.  
  
Severus spending three hours up to his knees in the lake, trying to convince a wounded bird that he was friendly.  
  
Severus in class, gazing wide eyed into a stained glass prism, oblivious to the fact that he was supposed to divine his future from it, focused entirely upon the glimmer of light held in its colored depths.  
  
Severus, a teacher now, interrupting his quest for insults to use against the Gryffindors to gaze again into that same prism.  
  
Severus looking at him now, with the same prism's light reflected on his sallow skin.  
  
"I never doubted that", the Headmaster murmured gently. "I never doubted you."  
  
It was true, but he doubted Severus would realize it. The professor left the room quietly, without fuss, without anything worth making a fuss over, Went back, alone to his lightness room, where there was no prism of faith or hope to throw colored shadows on his walls. 


	9. Flashes of Lightning, Rolls of Thunder

Author's Note: Yes, I am BACK! I think. Anyway, I actually have time to do fun stuff now, so I'm gonna keep working on this at least all summer. Also, for those of you who are wondering if One Young Heart will ever be finished; I discovered I had a logistics problem between what I was planning on doing with the story and what happened in book 5 (yeah, bad planning there), so I will be leaving that story unfinished until book six comes out, and I'll just rework the rest of the plot I originally laid out to fit with both books.

Casting Shadows at Noon

Chapter 9: Flashes of Lightning, Rolls of Thunder

"What does he seek to gain from this exercise?"

"An understanding."

"Of?"

"Your plans."

Voldemort condescended to drop his feet from the table to the floor, and to glare directly at his reticent spy. "Remind me again why I keep you around?"

"My ready wit, perhaps?"

"Ha." A crack of thunder resounded outside, and the tent became a few shades darker.

"Let's try this again, shall we? Why does Dumbledore keep attacking our French outposts?"

Snape resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and decided that the joy of a quick retort wasn't worth a kick in punishment. "To see if you have changed the fortifications, thus indicating a plan of attack. An increase in our presence there suggests an internationally staged assault upon the ministry."

"I don't understand it."

"Well, I could always use shorter words."

The dark lord's patience expired, and Severus was summarily flung out of the tent and into the mud. Brushing grime out of his hair, he waited to see who would next be summoned into the sole haven of light in the dark, soaking campsite. A man rose, responding to a barked order. Snape smiled inwardly, knowing by the man summoned that Voldermort's next move would be to lessen the fortifications in France, to divert the ministry from what must surely be the true force in muggle Russia.

"You're sure that it is only a feint?"

Severus wanted to snap that he had one job to do, and he was damn well doing it to the best of his ability. "Yes." Dumbledore saw Snape's anger in the mirror that lined the dungeon supply room where they sat, saw a man bored with such simple exercises and longing for a real test of his abilities. "I trust you." Then_ you are a fool_, Severus wants to say, but even as he thinks it, he knows it is not true, knows that he is trapped in the web of allegiances and betrayals that his headmaster has built for him, incapable of any gesture of disobedience, of defiance. The rebellion which in his childhood was only a regrettable side effect of his search for knowledge had become a holy grail, a longed-for but unwinnable privilege which he could only dream of finding. "Also, I'm afraid that things have taken a rather nasty turn as far as the ministry goes." Dumbledore glanced at the missive in his hand, sighed. "Ever heard of a Delores Umbridge?"

Snape glanced up, then back down to the powder he was grinding. "No."

"Well, whoever she is, I'm afraid she will be our new Defense professor. And that she is almost certain to be allied with Fudge."

Snape raised a single eyebrow, poured the powder into a cauldron bearing the beginning stages of a wolfsbane potion, and ducked to avoid the sparks it sent up. "Oh, did we switch sides? I didn't notice. Too bad, I really hated Fudge. I could poison him if you like."

"What I want you to do is act self-interested." Dumbledore feigned annoyance at the cloud of acrid smoke filling the room, and resisted the urge to fall into the potion master's bitingly sarcastic mode. Severus was every bit as loyal as McGonagall, and probably the better person to rely upon in a battle, but in the man's unusually talkative bitter humor and dramatic gestures he saw the after effects of a Cruciatus curse, and knew that any attempt to join in the conversation would only inspire Severus to drive him away again. "Fudge may fall into the trap of believing that you are on our side only to clear your name. Umbridge will almost certainly believe this. She may come to see you as an ally."

"Odd, I thought that _was_ the only reason that I'm on your side." His brow darkened as he added more ingredients haphazardly. He knew that he was approaching an edge, and the bitter rage in his heart welcomed the chance, was recklessly willing to lash out, to hurt the old man in any way.

Albus sounded uncharacteristically sad. "I was only trying to help you, Severus. You would never have left him if I had not turned you in."

Powdered dragon's claw hit the wall. A vial shattered, and the flames beneath the cauldron leapt to full height, licking at the ceiling. Snape reveled in the power, in the rush of letting his anger free; snarling, he hissed across the flames, "What in merlin's name gives you the right? My soul is mine for the caring, old man." Even as the rage coursed through his veins, he was overwhelmed by sadness, was almost in furious tears as he flung his parting words. "I don't feel saved, Albus. I don't feel redeemed."


End file.
